Pinky Promises Are Powerful Magic
by megyal
Summary: Ickle Harry wants to stay with his newest hero. Deaged


_[Note: Originally published 2012-08-12 in other places, reposted here. If you've encountered it already, my apologies.]_

**Other Notes:** Written for Serpentinelion's Glompfest on Livejournal.  
**Betas:** The Built-in Beta, **tigersilver**, **winnett**, **txilar**; thanks much to the Glompfest mods and **shantismurf**, a Glompfest proofreader.

* * *

_It is not easy to be crafty and winsome at the same time, and few accomplish it after the age of six._  
~John W. Gardner and Francesca Gardner Reese

The whispers followed Draco Malfoy everywhere, like the susurration of a pit of snakes. They floated around him at his desk, threatening to topple the messy towers of case-files; they slithered under the door of the stalls of the loo, coiled into the whorls of his ear before he entered the lift, and slid across the shiny floors to interrupt his quiet tea-time. Everyone always had something to say, and they said it with a curl to their lip and hard distrust in their eyes. Chin up, he told himself. Chin fucking _up_, for he worked his way to where he was now, fought for it with every breath he had: right through the trials, the mind-delving by the Ministry mage-psychoanalysts, the Auror training and finally, his assignment to the force.

He hadn't come this far to let a few whispers stop him.

Oh, but if it were only that, and if it were only a few. They _rained_ on him: tropical summer storms of mutters, gossip and distrust. That was bad enough; his partner, if only in name and not necessarily in reality, was Harry Potter.

Draco suspected that they were assigned as partners to allow Potter to keep an eye on him. Not that Potter, the lazy sod, was doing much of the eyeing.

(The same could not be said for Draco.

He persistently noted this detail with as much disinterest as humanly possible, and shoved it away. One could not _help_ but notice Harry Potter. The man drew attention-yanked the eye towards his slim body and his slow grin-the way he walked and turned his wrist when casting a spell or making a point. Potter bloody _revelled_ in all the attention, just as he always had. It was revolting, really.

_Really_.)

What Draco hated the most, absolutely _despised_, was how Harry Potter tried to _defend_ him.

"Oi," Potter would say, happening upon a cluster of murmurers. "What's happening here?"

At his tone, the gaze of one mutterer would flicker in Draco's direction. Harry Potter would get _angry_, of all things, and his eyes would flash like the gems set in Narcissa's favourite emerald and gold pendant. The mumblers would pull away, their own eyes wide in concern.

"Leave off with that," Potter would say. "That's behind us now, isn't it?" He would walk past Draco with nary a nod, and how Draco would _seethe_ at that. For Potter was a Gryffindor with the tongue of a Slytherin, two-sided and sharpened at both ends; _leave off that_, in front of their colleagues, but in meetings with supervisors, it was, _I'm sure Malfoy shouldn't be on a case like this, really. Conflict of interest, you might say._

Draco wanted to punch his stupid self-righteous teeth in at those moments.

All these matters were soundly complicated when Voldemort's body was stolen.

.:.

"Why would the Ministry even think of _keeping_ the body in stasis, after all these years?" Potter's tone was incredulous and indignant. He sat in one of the two chairs placed in front of Shacklebolt's desk, fingers digging into the padded arms. "And no one told me!"

Draco said nothing, even though he had lots to say, words piled up behind his teeth. He'd learnt many lessons during and after the War; one of them was you didn't have to say everything that came to mind. He simply kept his tongue and sat still in the other chair, hands clasped loosely in his lap. He was mindful of how he appeared: pale skin and hair, high-collared coat and trousers under the short cape favoured by the Aurors these days. Dark colours, too, contrasting with the coolness he projected. He remained still, and Potter twitched in his direction.

"Did _you_ know this, Malfoy?"

"Do I _look_ like I who would be privy to such information?" Draco replied with crisp annoyance, not allowing the word _now_ to slip out. He reprimanded himself sternly, for he should really know better. Harry Potter brought the worst out in him, especially with that sly expression of distrust.

"Oh, not really," Potter said, tone light even though his eyes were hard and dark. "I just thought that you might have heard something. You know. When you were out or about, or some such thing."

"I haven't," Draco answered, smoothing out the words as much as he could manage. "Not any more than you do."

"Hmm," Potter said, but he still stared hard at Draco.

"I've assigned you both to this case," Shacklebolt rumbled, pushing around sheaves of parchment almost listlessly. The skin around his eyes seemed paper-thin. "It would be nice if you both acted as actual partners this time around. For your first major case."

Draco exhaled slowly and silently, and did not look in Potter's direction.

"Fine, Kingsley," Potter said and got to his feet. Draco envied his ease with the Head Auror. "Where do we start?"

.:.

"Look." Draco knelt down on the polished floor, staring at the small, pale objects on the floor. Potter was standing near the slab on which Voldemort's body had been laid out, burning a hole in it with his gaze. "Potter."

Potter turned towards him and loped over. He bent at the waist, frowning. "What's that?"

"Looks like bits of grass," Draco said, pointing at them with his wand. They rose up off the floor, turning slowly in the air. The air in front of them shimmered, and Potter's magnifying spell made them appear much larger. "Grass seeds?"

"Hmm. Over here, Malfoy," Potter said and stepped over to a corner of the room, which was shaped like the inside of a small pyramid. The slab stood right beneath the point. "Gravel. Concrete bits, more like."

"Not much of a clue." Draco tilted his head. "Whoever was in here could have been in a greenhouse, with gravel walkways. Or along a country road... even one of the larger estates." He turned towards Potter, who gave him a very careful look. Draco smiled at him, all teeth and little else. "Ah. And now you're thinking of the Manor."

Potter managed to look shifty and insulted at the same time. "Come off it. I wasn't-"

"You were," Draco said, and stalked past him towards the door.

Potter grabbed him by the elbow, turning him around. Draco allowed it, smoothing down the material of his coat when Potter released him, and raised one eyebrow. Potter opened his mouth, closed it again and shook his head.

"Whatever," was all he said, and Draco felt a keen disappointment. "We'll know for certain once we pop a tracer over the lot."

"We need a lot of power for that," Draco reminded him. "Three individuals. Two to set the feedback spell, another to focus it."

Potter nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his robes and holding up his wand. "I'll boost the signal, then. You focus."

Right. Draco had been conversing with one of the most powerful wizards of his generation, how _silly_ of him to forget that, what with Potter throwing around his magical prowess in needless demonstration _all the time_. With an irritated flick of his wand, he summoned the bits of grass, setting them to float between himself and Potter.

"_Memori_," Potter intoned and Draco clenched his teeth against the seductive wave of power which welled up inside the room. He had to concentrate on his own spell, murmuring, "_Amplus Visum_," under his breath. Their spells wove around the evidence, and a bubble of light expanded from the quivering pieces of grass and gravel. A watery image simmered over the surface of the bubble, wavering as the bubble grew. Draco gritted his teeth, and threw more power into his own spell, trying to focus the image of where these items had been. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Potter standing there, easily doing the work of two, and Draco couldn't decide between annoyance and admiration.

"What _is_ that place?" Draco said, after he returned his gaze to the spanning view now shining along the surface of the bubble, a recollection of inanimate objects that had no memory for themselves: a massive field, an abandoned road that swung into sight, and then the point of view slid past some old, simple-framed buildings...except for one, which looked like a massive green ball.

"It looks like some kind of airstrip." Harry stared at the image himself, a furrow between his dark eyebrows. "An old one. But where?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at the view, burning it into his own memory. Whatever an _airstrip_ was, he'd know this one just as soon as he saw it.

.:.

"Brunton Airstrip, Northumberland." Weasley tossed a few still images on the desk that Potter and Draco shared. Rather, it was Draco's desk since Potter spent more time around the other Aurors. "Used a Muggle search engine to find photos of it. Very easy, too."

Draco pulled the photos towards himself, nodding. Yes, this was the place. It had been teeth-gratingly disturbing to hand over his memory of the airstrip to Weasley, but the man was more efficient than Draco gave him credit for; Weasley had opened and switched on those odd little machines they kept in a protective bubble in a warded office. He had hunted about on the...netterweb, was it, and had managed to pluck these images, which matched his own recollections very closely.

"All right," Potter said, from where he was pulling his Auror robes off his shoulders (_his nicely shaped shoulders_, the part of Draco's mind which was obviously not under his direct control pointed out unhelpfully) and tossing them over the back of the nearest chair. He reached into the small closet in the corner and pulled out one of the surprisingly stylish field-jackets-black with large pockets-fastening the over-large zippers. "We'll get Barton and Gillespie on this as part of the point-team." He sounded eagerly in charge, and Draco rose to his feet, pressing his lips together. "It's a big jump, but I'm sure we can all Apparate there, then take a quick breather. Malfoy-"

Draco raised his eyebrows, expectantly. Potter would probably want him to stay back; as a higher-ranking Auror, Potter did have the authority to make that request, but Draco was prepared to be icily insubordinate.

"Malfoy," Potter said, very slowly, as if he was embroiled in some silent internal debate, "You'll be...coming along, then. On point."

"Of course," Draco answered, stalking past him to retrieve his own field-jacket, _DM_ printed neatly under the larger white text of _DMLE_. "After all, we're supposed to be acting as _actual partners_."

"Right." Harry shrugged his shoulders at the quietly hulking Weasley, who shook his head as if Harry was being difficult. "Fine. Let's go."

.:.

The jump to Northumberland was indeed a little taxing, and Draco willingly crouched in the high grass along with the other Aurors, waiting to catch his breath. The fields were quiet in the cool afternoon sunshine and, from their position, Draco could see that odd globe-shaped building.

"Everyone good?" Potter looked around at their faces, and then nodded without awaiting any answers. "There's a strong magical signature coming from that round building there...right, Natasha?"

Auror Gillespie nodded, and flashed a quick, nervous grin. "Whatever's going on in there, it's pretty big." She ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. "Due caution, and all that."

Potter gave her a reassuring smile, and then gave them all one final hard glance. "Keep low. We're doing the Star-Point approach, and I need everyone to have their head screwed on straight, yeah? If we run into trouble, we let back-up in on the action."

Draco tried hard not to roll his eyes. He couldn't see the back-up team from their position, but the small monitor on his wrist displayed the position of fifteen other Aurors, waiting patiently in the surrounding foliage. If the point-team was stealthy enough, back-up would be unnecessary.

"Go," Potter said and Draco twitched his wand in time with the rest of them, and they all faded to faint outlines, well-trained enough to not cast shadows. Draco took off in a low crouch, taking up his position on the star at one side of the building. He counted to ten, and tested the wards on the building. Finding a tiny seam, he worked it open with a clever charm he'd once learned from his father, and then shifted the molecules in the thin metal wall so that he could slip right through it.

_That_ one he'd picked up from a cranky trainer he'd had at the Academy.

Inside the large, round building, the entire operation went tits up.

The interior was bathed in a pulsing, red light, and Draco heard the unmistakable sounds of battle. A spell winged right by his head, singeing some of his hair. He whirled, firing off a series of protective spells, throwing himself to one side as a volley of spells screamed in his direction.

Potter popped up suddenly at his side, a translucent blue arc glimmering over them.

"Look," Potter barked in his ear, voice harsh. His hand curled around Draco's elbow, turning him around. "In that chest right there, see?"

"Yes," Draco answered. A particularly large spell bounded off Potter's shield with so much force, the concrete floor underneath their feet buckled, rumpling up like a worn sheet. They both stumbled back, arms wheeling in frenzied arcs.

"I'll clear the way for you," Potter said when they regained their balance, eyeing the red-robed and masked individuals huddled defensively around the glowing chest. Three of them stood around it, holding hands and chanting loudly. "You snatch Voldemort's remains and carry them back to headquarters."

Draco nodded and readied himself. Potter's shield charm fizzled abruptly and Draco raced away, towards the glowing casket. Potter's spells boomed past him, slamming into the neo-Death Eaters one after the other, shoving them to be pinned against the walls like collected butterflies. Draco ducked out of the wand-range of one bulky bloke, then popped up his side to serve a very satisfying punch to his jaw.

He was just about to deliver a sweeping kick to one of the chanters and knock her off her feet, when Weasley screamed, "Harry! Get-"

Draco looked back, snapping his head around so fast that his neck would feel sore for days. Harry was struggling, but not against someone. He was caught up in a massive beam of pale light. Draco tracked it back to its source.

It came from Voldemort's casket. Fucking hell.

Potter tried to pull away from the light, but it held onto him tenaciously; whips of energy wrapped around him. He fell to the ground and writhed, mouth opened in silent agony, glasses flying off his face and skittering to one side. To Draco's horrified dismay, Potter began to _shrink_.

The chanting grew louder, more triumphant. Weasley and the other Aurors had managed to fight their way even closer, but they were still too far._Stop the light_ was all that was running through Draco's mind as he shook himself out of the icy panic that had cloaked him and did the only thing he could think of.

He conjured the biggest mirror charm he could manage, and tossed it between Potter and the casket. He had no idea of the angle of the charm, and so instead of reflecting right back to the casket, the light went _up_, blasting through the roof. Weasley yelled something that was a combination of exultation and utter rage; the entire western wall collapsed and their back-up _finally_ poured in.

Draco spun on his heel, and raced towards Potter's prone form. There was a small lump under the _DMLE_ jacket, which let off wisps of purple smoke. Draco snatched at it and threw it to one side...then stared at the dark haired boy who lay there, curled up in a tiny, naked ball.

The boy looked up at him, eyes wide with terror. His eyes were so green, and a _very_ familiar scar marred his forehead.

"Potter," Draco whispered, and swallowed hard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone stampeding towards them and without thinking, Draco reached out and swung Tiny Potter up. He was so very _light_, and Draco tucked him into the crook of one arm with no effort at all, angling him away from the oncoming neo-Death Eater.

Potter's own arms wound around Draco's neck, holding tight. Draco launched into a furious duel with the Death Eater, baring his teeth. They seemed be deliberately trying to avoid striking Tiny Potter, which worked very well for Draco's purposes, thanks much.

Draco stepped around in a neat circle to avoid another spell, and then let a series of his own spells and curses fly. The Death Eater staggered back, blood seeping from slashes to his face; he then snarled and simply leapt at Draco, arms reaching out to grab Potter. Weasley's huge bulk suddenly obscured Draco's view and he heard the thick sound of a fist connecting quite violently to a face. The Death Eater staggered away and collapsed on the floor, wand rolling away from a slack hand.

Draco felt a little sorry for man. Weasley was as big as a house and about as solid. Then he felt Potter trembling against his side, and got over his sympathy rather quickly.

"Alright," he murmured, ignoring the rest of the Aurors as they disarmed theneo-Death Eaters, locking their hands behind their backs with glowing manacles. Draco went down on one knee, checking the floor for any bits of sharp rubble before he set Potter to stand on the ground. He shrugged off his jacket, and placed it over Potter's narrow shoulders, wrapping it around his naked frame securely. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Weasley's hand reach down and take up Potter's wand, balancing it gently across his fingers.

Potter's eyes were huge in his face, and they were filled with unshed tears as his gaze fixed on Draco. His mouth trembled and Draco lifted him up again immediately.

"I've got you. You're safe now." Draco swallowed hard and murmured, "_Harry_. You're safe."

"Bleeding hell, _that's Harry_?" Weasley muttered, staring at the boy cradled in Draco's arms. There was a gash on his forehead that dribbled a little blood, but he dabbed at it absently, tucking Potter's wand into an inner pocket of his jacket. "Harry."

Harry, tiny, light, skinny _Harry_, turned away and tucked his face into the crook of Draco's neck. Draco held him tightly and something clenched in his chest as he felt tears fall against his skin.

"I'm taking him back to headquarters," Draco decided and looked around. "Do you need me to-?"

"Get him right to Hermione." Weasley reached out a hand and touched Harry's untamed hair, very carefully. Harry shrank into Draco's arms, but Weasley kept up the gentle petting until Harry peeped out at him again. "She'll arrange with the Unspeakables and the Mediwizards. You'll be okay, Harry. You're just fine. Right?"

Harry stared at Weasley for a long time. Draco, who could only see the top of his head, wondered what was going through his mind. Then, Harry nodded very slowly.

"Right." Weasley sounded relieved; his smile was wide. "You're just fine."

.:.

The interrogations with the neo-Death Eaters (who claimed that their group was called the _Children of the Red Mask,_... not that Draco actually_cared_) all went along quite swimmingly, if by 'swimmingly' one meant that Draco had to endure their nonsensical rants about the Return of the Dark Lord in the body of the Chosen One. It was worrying to comprehend the _size_ of the group; did so many people still subscribe to Voldemort's convictions? How many of them might still be out there? From the looks Draco got on a regular basis, people obviously thought that he was still a functioning Death Eater. This would explain some of the more fervent speeches from the Red Mask group. They tried appealing to his 'better sensibilities'.

Draco marched towards the Unspeakables' offices after writing one of the fastest official reports ever, and waited outside the main door until Granger met him there, giving him clearance with a wave of her wand.

"How is he?" he asked without preamble, walking with Granger down the long interior hall. "Have you returned him to his proper size as yet?"

Granger shook her head, brown curls falling out of tight French braid. There were very fine lines of worry around her eyes. "Physically, he's fine. His magic is intact and his memory correlates to his age. Luna is checking him out a bit more, but-"

"They tried to put...the Dark Lord in him," Draco said with some difficulty, trying to wrap his mind around the fact. Granger actually _brightened_ at that, which proved that while they had become fairly civil, he still was right in thinking she was an odd duck.

"It was _very_ complicated magic," Granger explained, turning into another corridor. "Time-based spells combined with the theory of cellular memory of a body held in stasis. Very interesting, Professor Salander of the Mercury Institute wrote a compelling paper last year."

"Is that so," Draco said flatly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Her hands were actually up in front of her face, making excited shapes and scribbling equations unseen by Draco as they walked.

"Right, so they had the idea that if they made Harry younger he'd be less resistant to the memories and personality gained from Voldemort's cellular memories. Not bad, to be honest. It could have worked." She slanted a quick gaze at him. "But they didn't quite factor _Harry_ into their calculations, did they?"

"No-one ever does," Draco said as they stopped and looked through a large section of a wall that had been made transparent, straight into a narrow medical ward with a few well-made beds. Harry was sitting on one, dressed in night-clothes which had obviously been shrunken from adult-size. With a very small pair of glasses on his face, he clutched a stuffed animal to his chest, watching Lovegood with open delight as she threw an array of harmless fireworks right over his head. It was an effective distraction from the tests she deftly cast on him with _another_ wand in her left hand, and Draco tried hard not to show just how impressed he was at that.

"How old is he now, do you think?" Draco asked.

Granger looked up at the side of his face. "He's six. At least, that's what he says and the scans seem to match."

"That can't be right," Draco said, mostly to himself. "He can't be six, he's far too small."

"Don't you remember what he was like in first year?" Granger frowned at him. "He was the smallest person in our batch. Teensy thing."

"I hardly remember much about our first year, Granger," Draco lied archly, cutting his glance away from Granger's incredulous expression. Oh, but how he remembered the boy with the beautiful eyes who had wandered into Madame Malkin's as if he had discovered Aladdin's cave. The boy had been small, yes, but Draco had been exceedingly entranced by his face, and his messy hair. He had wanted to go over and take that grubby hand, a desire that had not diminished during all those years at school. If anything, that desire had increased in both intensity and scope, leaving Draco with such breathless internal conflict, pulled one way by his familial duty and beliefs, and the other way by a boy with green eyes.

Damned teenaged hormones.

He heard Harry release a quiet laugh, and ask something in his high, delicate voice. Lovegood answered, and they both went off into a very rapid conversation in which Lovegood set bright light-flowers blooming near the ceiling in succession. The amazement spreading over Harry's face was adorable.

"Look at him," Granger said, with a smile as indulgent as the warm spot in Draco's chest. "It makes you wonder how hard his relatives' hearts would have been, to treat him the way they did."

The warm spot in Draco's chest faded, and he felt like punching the nearest hard surface. He'd been practicing his infiltration skills and_accidentally_ accessed Potter's personal files. He had read with incredulous dismay the psych reports which referenced Potter's childhood, and Draco had had to sit down and revise every single presumption he'd had of Potter basking in adulation from birth.

Granger's voice cut into his recollections, like the wireless being turned up quickly. "-and so it's better for the integrity of his magical core if we let the spell wear itself off. We're looking at a few days...or as much as a week-"

"Who will he stay with?" Draco interrupted, turning to lean against the wall and stare at Granger, who wrinkled her nose thoughtfully.

"You'll probably get the official memo soon, but he's under Auror protection...he's staying with me and Ron." Granger smiled at him. "He'll be perfectly fine."

"I'm sure he will." Draco turned as the door to the ward was pushed open and Lovegood trotted out with Harry, holding one of his small hands in hers.

"Hello, Draco," she said, smiling in that knowing way that used to drive Draco around the bend. "Hermione. Here's our little man."

"Oh, Harry." Granger reached out and lifted him, kissing him on his cheek. Harry withstood her affection stolidly, staring at Draco with what seemed to be a very shy expression. For someone who had been chatting Lovegood's ear off just a few minutes ago, he was extremely quiet now.

"Hello, Harry," Draco said to him, and Harry ducked his head, hiding his face behind his newly acquired cuddly toy; it was a large moose with a ridiculous expression on its furry face.

"We'll be off now," she said, setting Harry on his feet and smiling at Draco.

"Here's my Floo address," Draco said suddenly, pulling out the small square of parchment on which he'd written earlier. Granger took it with a look of surprise that she didn't try to hide. "If there's anything at all, do not hesitate to call me. After all," and he glanced down at Harry, who was still carefully not looking back up at him, "he is my partner."

"We'll give you a call if we need to." Hermione tucked the bit of parchment inside her own robes and tugged gently on Harry's hand. "Ready, Harry?"

Harry's messy head nodded and Granger led him towards the opposite end of the corridor, away from Draco.

"Wonderful! We'll take the Floo; you'll like it. You'll have to travel with me, alright?"

Harry nodded again, but peered back over his shoulder at Draco, who gave him a small wave. Harry smiled and quickly turned around, disappearing around the corner with Granger.

"He's in good hands," Lovegood said, and patted Draco on his shoulder. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you," Draco said, but Lovegood pressed an odd container into his hands.

"Ovaltine," she told him as Draco stared at the little bottle. "Harry likes it!"

"Right," Draco said faintly, but Lovegood had already returned to her medical station, calmly ending her miniature light-show. Mystified, Draco shrank the bottle of..._Ovaltine_, and went back to his office.

.:.

It was the bottle of Ovaltine that Draco saw first when he opened his eyes, shaken out of a deep sleep by a harsh buzzing sound. He blinked at it and sat up when the buzzing came again, the sound of someone trying to get through to him by Floo.

Draco swung his legs off the side of the bed, scrambling for his robe. He had come home to the Manor, emptied his pockets, taken a long shower and literally collapsed into bed, naked.

"Yes," he said, kneeling on a little pillow next to the Floo, which stopped buzzing at the sound of his voice and allowed visuals and audio. Granger's face hovered over the flames, and the skin between her eyebrows was pinched with worry. There was a large crashing sound from her end, but she didn't flinch.

"Malfoy," she said, in an admirably calm tone. "Do you think you could come over here?"

"Is it Harry?" Draco leaned forward, almost falling into the Floo. "Is he alright?"

Granger gave him an odd stare and then shrugged, opening her mouth to answer. Something else smashed, and then Draco heard the gentle rumble of Weasley's voice, the words indistinct. Harry answered, and his little voice wavered.

"Give me a few moments," Draco said, getting to his feet and sprinting to the en-suite bathroom before Granger could explain anything. He must have pulled on some clothing in ten seconds flat, getting back to the Floo in record time. "I'm coming through."

The Granger-Weasley abode was not as small as Draco had thought it would be; it was rather messy, mostly because Harry was standing near the opposite corner of the sitting room, arms wrapped around himself as random objects whirled around him in a tiny hurricane. Weasley was kneeling in front of him, completely non-threatening, but Harry seemed quite upset. He wasn't crying, but his bottom lip trembled now and again. He looked over as Draco took a step towards him, and his eyes widened.

The objects paused in their merry dance, and then crashed to the floor.

"He's been very upset," Granger said, as if half the contents of their cabinets weren't scattered around by Harry's wild magic. "He kept asking for you."

"Has he?" Draco smiled at Harry, who returned it in a very watery fashion. Draco went over to him, and knelt down. He opened his arms and Harry hesitated, gaze flicking between Draco's hands as if he might be hiding some weapon in his fingers. The, he suddenly stampeded over to Draco, nearly bowling him over. Draco folded his arms around him, hugging him tightly. He closed his eyes,that warm feeling in his chest spreading to the very ends of his limbs. He might have been glowing, for all he knew.

"Can I stay with you?" Harry asked, near strangling Draco with his thin arms. He spoke so quietly. "Please?"

"I..." Draco looked up at the Granger-Weasleys, who seemed a little dismayed but not overly upset. "Don't you like it here?"

Harry pulled back. His face was very solemn. "I like it. Herminny and Ron are very nice." He glanced at them, and gave them a small smile. Then, very hard and quickly as if he wasn't quite sure how the act of hugging worked, he wrapped his arms around Draco's neck again and whispered, "You saved me."

_Harry_, Draco wanted to say but there was this absolutely massive lump in his throat. _Oh my darling Harry, you saved everyone_, but the bloody lump refused to move. He got to his feet, taking Harry with him, and looked at Granger.

Without a word, Granger handed him a small cloth bag, Harry's stuffed moose hanging out of it. She bit her lip, then smiled.

"We'll come over to visit, every other day," she said, and blinked rapidly against the welling of tears in her eyes. "We can, right?"

"Yes," Draco said. Weasley reached out, ruffling Harry's hair. Harry smiled, and Draco felt the boy's cheek move against his chest.

"You be good," Weasley said, gruff and loving. "Try not to break Malfoy's house...unless you really want to."

"I won't break it," Harry answered, very seriously. "I'll be good."

Draco hoped he wasn't holding Harry too tightly, and nodded at Granger and Weasley. He stepped back through his Floo, calling out his address. As soon as they were back inside his bedroom, he set Harry on his feet and led him to the corridor. A few steps down this corridor, Draco opened another door; the lamps inside bloomed to life with a wave of his wand.

"This room can be yours," he said, leading Harry inside. He glanced down at Harry, but the little boy was gazing at his wand with an entranced expression. "Did...Luna tell you about magic?"

"Yeah! It's ace!" Harry answered, speaking louder than usual and then visibly reined himself in. Draco fought back an indulgent grin. "She said _I_ can_do magic_, but I can't have a wand yet." He gave Draco's wand another longing glance from behind his glasses, and then peeped around the room.

"This is a big room." His matter-of-fact tone was tinged with awe. Draco looked around himself; this had been one of his own rooms when he was younger. His mother had been loath to alter the childish decor, with the mild-faced snakes curling along the walls and the bed shaped like a dragon, its intricately carved head arched protectively over the mound of pillows. Instead of trying to change her mind, Draco had simply converted the play-rooms next door into a set of suites more suitable for an adult.

"Really big," Harry said and Draco tried to look at the room through a child's eyes; it still didn't seem that big to him, and so he shrugged and called for Nercher. When the house-elf popped into the room, Harry jumped and crowded against Draco's legs.

"It's alright." Draco reached around and tugged Harry forward gently. "That's Nercher. She's a house-elf and she works here. Nercher, this is Master Harry. He'll be staying with me for awhile."

Nercher nodded quickly at Harry, a smile lifting her wrinkled cheeks. She eyed Harry's shorts and t-shirt, but said nothing. Without waiting for Draco's command, she went to his large white wardrobe, rummaged inside for a few moments and then pulled out some night-clothing, placing them on the bed.

Draco showed Harry the bathroom in the meantime, and the door which connected their rooms together. He knelt and said, "I'll be going to bed now. Do you need anything else?"

Harry blinked and then shook his head.

Draco said, "Alright. If you need to hear a story, Nercher has some very good ones. Good night, Harry."

"Night," Harry said, voice very low. Draco bravely refrained from hugging him once more, and got to his feet. He closed the door very gently, and smiled when he heard Harry ask Nercher, "Why are your ears like that?"

Draco found it a bit hard to get to sleep, mostly because he was worrying if Harry was warm enough; the stone walls of the Manor were very thick, and it could get chilly in the very early hours of the morning, even with the heating charms running non-stop. And what if Harry was afraid of the dark (even though Nercher might leave on a lamp for him)? He was awake, of course, when Nercher popped soundlessly beside his bed about an hour later and said, "Master Draco, you can be coming to Master Harry's room?"

Draco jumped out of bed without pause. He walked swiftly to Harry's room and called, "Harry?" at the door before opening it.

Harry wasn't in the bed, which had its covers turned down invitingly. He wasn't sitting in the child-sized armchair by the fireplace, and he wasn't kneeling beside the large toy-castle that Draco assumed had been taken out of storage by Nercher. Draco spun around in a full circle, fighting down a wave of panic, and then whirled once more at the sound of the wardrobe being opened.

Harry clambered from out of one of the mirrored doors, dressed in a long, grey nightshirt. He looked up at Draco through his messy fringe, his green eyes full of fearful anticipation.

Draco kept his tone very gentle as he said, "Harry? Is the bed not comfortable?"

Harry visibly relaxed and bit at his lower lip before he whispered, "It's okay. The room is... _really_ big."

Exhaling in measured beats, Draco looked around, and then nodded slowly. He smiled at Harry, whose small smile was quick in answer.

"Very well. Nercher, get the other house-elves. Harry, you're going to see some house magic at work. Stand right there, on the middle of that rug...excellent."

Harry stood with his hands clasped together, looking as if all his dreams were going to come true all at once. He was adorable, Draco decided, much more so than his adult form, even though grown-up Potter had his positive points. Handsome he was, in such an understated way. Those damned lovely eyes, and the way his dark hair curled at the back of his neck, and his strong, capable arms.

"Draco?" Harry was staring up at him and Draco realised that while he had been off woolgathering the other elves had reappeared with Nercher, patiently awaiting his command. "You're red, Draco. In the face, I mean. Are you sick?"

"No, sweetheart, I'm fine," Draco said, and Harry seemed stunned at the use of the word _sweetheart_. He ducked his head, and twisted his hands together even more, digging one big toe into the nubbly material of the rug. The elves glanced at each other and then looked at him again. They seemed amused. "Alright. Cramoisy, Bitsy, Drossy and Lamby, we're going to make this room smaller. For Harry. Nercher?"

Nercher stood beside Harry, taking one of his hands and patting it comfortingly. Harry wouldn't know, but he and Nercher were acting as the focal point of the entire room. Draco concentrated on the walls of the house, feeling the structure yearn towards its young master with all its ancient willingness. The other elves stood in the four corners of the room, one of their hands placed at the juncture of walls. Draco waited until he felt their magic coil into stone and plaster, spreading gently over roof and floor.

With their help, he began to pull. It wasn't hard, since he had been engaged in reconstructing entire wings of the Manor since his mother had left. It was hard to find the time, what with being a full-time Auror, but he was getting it done bit by bit. So he had the practice, but it was still a bit of a strain on his magic. Additionally, the Manor didn't understand the concept of getting _smaller_, so it resisted Draco's current efforts, just a little. The elves helped, coaxing the old home as they stepped backwards. The walls followed them in, the floor diminished in size; even the ceiling dropped down, shrinking from its usual shadow-filled height.

"Say when, Harry," Draco said, and Harry gazed at him in surprise. "Tell me when it's a good size for you," Draco clarified.

"For _me_?" Harry whispered and then looked around. "Oh. It's okay now."

_So very small_, Draco thought as he released the Manor from his will. The wards fluttered into place in a rather huffy fashion, settling over the drastically smaller area. Even the bed had become smaller, over half its original size and so short that the little stool beside it wasn't necessary anymore. Harry padded over and climbed up into bed, looking around and nodding.

"Thank you," he said, shyly. "Thanks for doing this for me. It's nice now." He blinked rapidly. "It was really nice before, but I mean-"

"I understand, sweetheart," Draco said, unable to stop the endearment from escaping his lips. "As long as you get some sleep. Remember, if you need anything, you can come through that door over there. Alright?"

Harry snuggled down into bed, taking off his glasses and placing them on the tiny shelf on the headboard. He hugged his moose and smiled at Draco myopically.

"Night, Draco," he whispered against the moose's thick fur.

"Night, Harry." Draco dimmed the lamps and the house-elves disappeared with careful silence. Draco took just a few steps over to the connecting door and opened it. Before he closed it, he could hear Harry's even breathing, already fast asleep.

.:.

The next morning Shacklebolt Floo'ed early to ask after Harry.

"He's doing well?" he asked in a rather flat, matter-of-fact manner, dark gaze fixed on Draco's face. Draco, who had pulled on his robes over the nightshirt he'd wore last night, nodded as he knelt stiffly in front of the Floo.

"I'm going to check on him now, make sure he's having some breakfast."

Shacklebolt exhaled steadily. "Good. If it's acceptable to you, I'll transfer the protective custody from Auror Weasley and place you on official leave." In the background, Draco could hear Shacklebolt's fingers tapping on the surface of his desk. "The certified report from the Unspeakables on his case is very promising. He should revert to his normal age without further magical influence. A week or so, they claim."

Draco looked at him, careful not to let any doubt or surprise show on his face. "If you're sure about Potter staying here at the Manor, then it is acceptable to me."

"I'm sure." Shacklebolt's tapping had stilled completely and his gaze was even. "Your current case is Active Potter Watch, with Aurors Weasley and Gillespie on immediate response. I trust that you will treat it with all your customary diligence." One eyebrow lifted in a questioning arch.

"Of course, sir." Draco tried not to feel as if Shacklebolt was questioning his commitment to Harry...to _his job_, rather. He remained kneeling for a few long moments after Shacklebolt's image faded from the green flames, and then had a rather hurried wash, dressing quickly. Going into Harry's room, he paused at the sight of Bitsy sitting on the floor next to the bed, thin arms folded as he _pouted_. Draco had never seen an elf pout before. Bitsy glanced up at Draco and jumped to his feet.

"Master Draco!" he burst out and pointed to the covers pulled to tight precision over the thick mattress. "Master Harry, he _made the bed_."

"Well, goodness," Draco managed, not wanting to chuckle at Bitsy, who was already quite upset. "Did he?"

"Yes!" Bitsy glowered at the bed and then swung his gaze back to Draco. "And when Bitsy was coming in here to do the tidying, Master Harry asked Bitsy for a broom and cleaning cloths!" The elf's large eyes, already quite watery, became even more so. "Bitsy said that he would be taking care of Master Harry's room, and Master Harry said it was..._okay_. Master Harry said he would clean up more after breakfast!"

It didn't seem so funny anymore. Draco tightened his lips against the thought of Harry scrubbing at walls and floors, and he wondered what happened in the summers when Harry had gone to his Muggle home from Hogwarts, after fighting off some dark scheme all through the school year, with Draco himself at every corner, harassing him without pause. Draco could safely say that Harry hadn't exactly been a whimpering mess, but he wouldn't have reacted to Draco's vicious bullying (and yes, that was what it was, plain and simple) if he'd only just left him alone. Draco felt a lurching in his stomach and fought to quell it. He couldn't have changed years of house rivalry by himself; now, as an adult, he could only regard his past thoughts and actions in a new, pitying light.

"I'll tell him that won't be necessary," Draco said, trying to sound as soothing as Narcissa did when the elves got worked up over something. "Carry on, Bitsy."

"Yes, Master Draco." Bitsy sniffled and got to work, bony fingers pointing at surfaces, banishing nonexistent dust. Draco trotted downstairs, pausing at the closed-off dining room. Most of the reconstruction work began at this point of the Manor and going back towards the eastern wing, which the Dark Lord had claimed during his...sojourn, he and that massive snake. Draco had had a good amount of practice working on old magical buildings while helping to rebuild Hogwarts; now, with the help of the elves, he was steadily clearing out the lingering memory of Voldemort's presence, which seemed to stain the walls and discolour the furniture. Draco found that he had to rip out entire walls, for the Manor felt incomprehensibly unfamiliar to him in those areas. Narcissa had simply refused to stay until the refurbishments were complete.

He inspected the charms which supported the remaining walls, floors and columns, and prevented any guest from wandering inside the reconstruction zone. He refreshed a few of them, and then headed towards the kitchen.

Harry was kneeling on a stool at the large breakfast island, dressed in one of Draco's house-robes that he had paraded around in as a child: dark grey, short-sleeved in a pull-over style, the hems intricately tailored in decorative white needlework. The robe came down past his knees, and was paired with loose trousers.

Harry had a stack of parchment on the countertop, some coloured-pencils scattered beside him. He glanced up with a half-smile when Draco stopped near him, looking at the paper covered with Harry's careful drawings: a tall stick-person with yellow hair, and a small stick-person with wild black hair, the two holding hands. A taller apple tree towered over them, and a house floated in the background, house-elves almost falling out of the wide windows. Beside Harry was a glass of chocolate milk (the much beloved Ovaltine, Draco presumed), and a plate with half-eaten eggs and crepes.

Draco nodded at the elves present and then said, "Harry, where did you get all those?"

Harry's expression seemed to close up, but without hesitation, he pushed everything towards Draco, saying, "Sorry. Nercher gave them to me. I thought it was okay-"

Draco shook his head, wondering how Harry could have jumped to that so fast, wearing that too-old, resigned expression on his face. As far as he was concerned, if Harry wanted to scrawl on the walls, Draco was fine with it. House-elf magic could remove nearly any ink or waxy mark, as Draco had discovered at this very same age.

"No, it really is okay. They're yours, have them." Draco pushed the pile of paper and pencils back to him, tapping the top sheet with one finger for a quick beat before leaning back. He considered how Harry's smile bloomed in slow surprise across his face, and then said, "I simply wondered where Nercher found them. They're charmed, you know." He pulled out his wand and stretched forward once more to tap the parchment. The images rippled along the paper and then detached themselves, hovering above the parchment in a two-dimensional dance. Harry clapped his hands and laughed out loud. Draco laughed as well; it felt rusty, but good.

"That's nice!" Harry said, poking at the Stick Harry with a red pencil. Stick Harry scurried behind Stick Draco and stuck out a little tongue. Harry laughed some more, reaching out a small hand to stroke the big leaves of his ambitious tree. "Magic is _so nice_," he said, breathless with wonder.

"Are you finished with your meal?" Draco asked, sitting on a stool opposite. A plate of warm breakfast shimmered into view in front of him, accompanied by a large cup of fragrant tea. "You didn't have much of it."

"They gave me a lot," Harry answered, sounding a bit absent as he drew some more. "I couldn't eat it all."

Draco eyed Harry's smaller plate and looked at the elves, feeling his mouth thin a little. The house-elves gave him some expressive shrugs, and turned back to their polishing of the pots. At that age he'd been wolfing down all his breakfast, and imperiously ordering more crepes. Harry finished colouring another artistic effort with a satisfied flourish, set the paper aside very carefully and then climbed down from his stool. Draco watched, chewing slowly, as Harry's hands appeared over the top of the counter and retrieved his plate and glass. Harry padded over to the big sink, deposited them beside it, and returned to drag a stool over to the washing area.

"Harry, wait," Draco called, realizing with dismay what the child was about to do when Harry scaled the stool again and reached for the sponge and dish-soap. "Harry, the elves will do all that. You don't have to."

Harry went still. Draco could see the tense line of his narrow shoulders.

"If I don't clean up, will you send me...away?" Harry whispered.

Draco almost choked on his mouthful of food.

Swallowing with some effort, he said, "Of course not. You...I would _never_," he finished, unable to form a rational sentence without saying outright that he would never want to send Harry away from him. Harry nodded after a few long beats and climbed back down, much to Lamby's obvious relief.

Harry sidled up to Draco's stool and leaned with studied casualness against one of its legs. When Draco finished eating, he asked, "Can I see the rest of your house?"

Draco pushed back his plate. "You want to see it?" He wasn't sure how much Harry remembered the Manor, _if_ he remembered anything at all.

"Your house is really big." Harry peered around the kitchen, his eyes wide. "Why do you have such a big house? And all by yourself." He gazed up at Draco, and reached up and took his hand, and squeezed his fingers shyly. "Don't you get lonely?"

"Sometimes," Draco admitted with a small smile. "But I don't use all of it. I'm actually in the process of repairing some parts of it, so I live in one wing." He slipped off his stool and hunkered down so that he was eye-to-eye with the little boy. "Harry. I've closed off those parts of the house under reconstruction because it might be dangerous to those who don't know exactly where to step. I need you to promise me that you won't go where I tell you not to go. That would make me very unhappy."

Harry held up his left hand, most of the fingers curled in except for the smallest one. When Draco stared at it, slightly baffled, Harry said, "I'll pinky promise," in the kind of indulgent tone children use when faced with a clueless adult.

"Pinky promise?"

"Hold up your hand," Harry said, scrunching up his nose. "Come on. I can pinky promise."

Draco held up his hand, small finger held out as well. Harry curled his pinky finger around Draco's and said, "I promise I won't go where I'm not s'posed to and I'll try to keep you happy."

Charmed beyond measure, Draco said without thinking, "I promise I'll try to keep you happy too...and that I will always keep you safe from harm."

Harry pulled his hand away abruptly, putting the small finger close to his face and inspecting it. "Did you feel that? It got warm!"

"Did it?" Draco raised his eyebrows as he puzzled it out. He hadn't felt it at all. "That seemed to have been a very strong magical vow, Harry. That means we can't either ever break it." He was half-joking, really, making a mental note to research this 'pinky promise' (it might have had its roots in Eastern magic, he suspected) but Harry nodded very seriously.

"I don't break pinky promises," Harry told him. "It's not right."

Draco stared at him, at the very intense expression on his small face, the dark brows pulled close together. His green gaze was very direct and, just like that, Draco knew that all the infuriatingly heroic bits of Potter didn't just sprout up the night before Hogwarts...he had _always_ been like this. Always Harry.

It was staggering and breathtaking to think about.

"You're right." Draco got to his feet, reaching for Harry's hand again. "And now for your tour, milord." He laid on the snooty accent rather thick and Harry giggled. "Let's be off!"

They exited through the large back doors of the kitchen and out into the rear garden. This had been Narcissa's beloved domain before she had left for the house in Normandy, to reside there permanently. Harry's amazed inhalation would have made her smile smugly.

"This is so cool," Harry breathed out as they stood at the very top of the wide staircase. "Look at all those colours; it's so brill. It's loads better than Aunt Petunia's!"

"My mother spent years making it like this." Draco very carefully did not latch onto Harry's first mention of his Muggle family. "She thought that it should always look like a bit of cultivated wild out here."

"I like it," Harry said, quite firmly. He released Draco's hand and marched down the steps, clutching his hands to his chest so he wouldn't touch the massive blooms which bobbed over the dirt-paths. Draco picked a few of them, placing them in Harry's hands so he would know it was alright. Harry held his flowers for their entire walk, holding them in his fist as carefully as if they were made of delicate glass.

"Where's your family?" Harry asked when they'd walked over the tiny arched bridge with proudly spanned a trickling stream. The peafowl, territorial yet curious, trailed them on their walk in the soft sunshine. "Aren't you married?"

Draco let out a strangled laugh and Harry slanted up a quick glance.

"Well." Draco stopped in the middle of the bridge, scratching one side of his nose. "Yes. Well."

Harry, holding his flowers, just continued to stare up at him, almost unblinkingly.

"I'm not attracted to women," Draco said, because Harry seemed like the kind of person who didn't do well with anything less than direct honestly, whatever size he was. "I prefer men, Harry."

_Now_ Harry blinked slowly. "Ohhhh. Uncle Vernon says poofters should be thrown in a special prison so they won't be around normal people."

"Ah." Draco sighed. It wasn't every day he had to have a talk like this with a six-year-old, no matter how quiet and resilient that child was. Or how Potterish. "Some people think that, yes. But, Harry-"

"I don't care if you're a poofter or not," Harry said, and looked down at his feet. His hand tightened around Draco's. "Uncle Vernon..." Harry shrugged. "If Uncle Vernon hates them, then I _like them_." He sounded rather fierce and when he looked up at Draco his eyes glittered like shards of broken bottles, waiting to dig their way into Draco's heart. "Anything they hate, I like."

"I see. _Poofter_ is not really a nice word, though," Draco said after a long moment, not quite sure how to respond to such intense conviction. "It can be...hurtful." Like all those words he'd thrown at Harry when they'd been in school.

Harry ducked his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean it."

Draco reached out, and brushed his fingers over the wild black curls. "I know you didn't mean it. You're the best Harry Potter I know."

Harry laughed at that, bright and lovely. "I'm the only Harry Potter you know!" He sobered abruptly, biting the inside of his cheek. "Right?"

"Right. And the absolute best. Now, I think it's time for brunch."

"You eat a lot, like..." Harry paused and continued quickly. "...like some people I know. It's a lucky thing that you're so tall, anyway. All that food has to go somewhere."

He seemed quite concerned as they trudged back to the Manor, and sounded so prim, Draco could do nothing but laugh.

.:.

Draco invited Harry's friends over for dinner the next evening and squelched his irrational spikes of uncertainty and nervousness as they entered the Manor through the main Floo in the receiving room. He would be the only snake in his own den, he reminded himself, surrounded by bloody Griffs; never mind that the most Gryffindor-ish of them all was currently quarter-sized, he was still just as detrimental to Draco's frame of mind. He felt a relief that was unexpectedly overwhelming when Harry stuck close by him for most of the evening, staring up at his friends as they greeted him with restrained enthusiasm. Harry shook their hands gravely, giving Draco sidelong glances now and again.

"Are these your drawings, Harry?" Thomas had found some of Harry's sketches placed on a nearby side-table; for someone so small, he produced quite a large amount of drawings in a rather short amount of time. The house-elves, out of what seemed to be mostly bemusement, had taken to stacking them up in various locations, and Draco had not been aware that he had owned so many coloured pencils. "They're very good."

Harry edged over to where Thomas sat, and Draco forced himself to remain where he was standing, his glass of wine clenched in one hand. Harry tugged at the collar of his tiny, elegant robe and then climbed up on the couch to kneel beside Thomas.

"This one's a peacock," he said, pulling out one of his drawings from the middle of the pile Thomas held. "The peacock's name is Sir Carlyle Leafington. Draco said it was. I wrote it here, can you see?"

"Yes, of course." Thomas nodded, as serious as a curator in a museum, over Harry's laborious handwriting sprawled under the image of what might have been a frightened mop. "Lovely beak."

"How has he been?" Granger asked from behind Draco. He turned very slowly but still kept Harry within the angle of his view. Granger was staring at Harry, a small smile on her face. "Has he mentioned anything important?"

"He spoke about his family, a little," Draco said, and glanced quickly at Weasley beside her before returning his gaze to Harry, who was now handing Thomas a green pencil and giving the man very long, detailed instructions.

"It's funny how he doesn't ask about them, isn't it? That he doesn't seem anxious to get back home," Weasley said, taking a large gulp from his glass. Draco sneered at him very slightly, out of habit, and allowed a nod. He agreed, although he wasn't about to give Weasley the pleasure of his outright concurrence. Harry simply seemed to disconnect himself from any mention of his Muggle family with clean efficiency. He didn't even cry for them, nor had nightmares regarding their absence, as Draco had been anticipating even though Potter's personal files had been grimly clear in regards to their neglect and abuse. Any of Draco's attempts to discuss them were deflected or at worse, politely ignored until Draco picked another topic.

"Makes you think," Weasley said, quite unnecessarily, in Draco's opinion. Harry slid off the couch and ran to Draco, excitedly holding out the quick drawing Thomas had produced.

"Oh, lovely," Draco said, and bent to take it. It was, of course, a rendition of Harry in the green pencil, complete with large, solemn eyes and the requisite messy hair. "Very nice."

"Can we frame it?" Harry asked, and Draco's heart melted at the use of the word _we_. "Can we hang it somewhere nice?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Draco said, and everyone went still around him. Draco breathed in and out, and kept his smile fixed on Harry. "Right after dinner. Are you ready to eat?"

"Ready," Harry said, firm and quiet. He set Thomas' drawing very carefully on top of his own stack of art, took Draco's hand, and walked with him towards the dining room, followed in silence by a roomful of Gryffindors. How often had Draco had dreams like this, walking arm and arm with Harry Potter, all eyes upon his triumph?

Except that now, Draco didn't feel triumphant at all. As he sat at the long table and watched Harry pick up his utensils, choosing the right ones first as Draco had shown him earlier, it felt like being defeated...in the best way.

.:.

To Draco, Harry seemed rather normal as a small boy, if a little quiet at times. In the slow week that followed, he drew even more pictures, played with Draco's old toys (charmed, of course, and quite charming), wrote 'letters' to the peacocks and pestered the house-elves with so many questions that they fled to Draco's office and begged him to distract Master Harry, just for an hour, so that they could have a bit of rest.

Draco realised that Harry had the talent, or at least the practice, of amusing himself. When Harry didn't know Draco was nearby, he would talk to himself, constructing elaborate stories under his breath, which mostly consisted of adventures with Draco, Sir Leafington, and Nercher.

"Maybe we can all live here forever," Harry whispered to the figurines he had arranged along the floor of his small room, not noticing Draco peering through the half-opened door. "We'll be good so that Draco will keep us." He took up one of the figurines, a unicorn rearing up and pawing at the air, and gave it an authoritative shake. "Be good, Dudley, be good."

Draco pressed uncertain fingers at the strange, heavy feeling in his throat, and walked quietly to his room.

.:.

Narcissa's Floo call was unusual but not unexpected; she tended to call at the start of the week, however, and not the middle of the weekend. Luckily, she'd rang after they'd come in from the pool-house. Draco had sat at the edge of the smaller-room, his legs dangling in the warm water of the smaller pool, pretending to be completely engrossed by a book while Harry had swum with much flailing, floating charms bunched under his arms.

"I'm not ready!" he'd sang out when Draco had told him it was time to come out. Draco had released a slight huff of amusement and levitated him out of the water, Harry's screeches of surprise and delight bouncing against the surface of the water.

Harry was currently safely wrapped up in his tiny bed, after having splashed around his bath under the watchful eye of Nercher. When Draco had taken a quick peek in the lav, Harry was playing with Draco's old toy-boats, commanding a tiny but determined armada against invading bubbles.

"Draco," Narcissa said now, her long hair pulled back from her thin face. Her eyes seemed larger than normal, fixed on Draco from the nest of the green flames.

Draco took a seat in front of the Floo and felt the space between his eyebrows furrow; he made an effort to smooth out that patch of skin. The points of Narcissa's shoulders were hunched forward towards him, as if she was readying for a blow.

"Mother?"

"Draco, is Harry Potter _really_ there? In an...indefensible state?" Her bottom lip trembled and she pulled it between her teeth and released it, a movement so quick and uncertain, that Draco wasn't exactly sure he had even seen it, and knew that that even if he _had_, he never wanted to see it again.

He said, "He isn't in an indefensible state. _I'm _here."

Narcissa glanced away from him, contemplating the middle distance in that way she had when she was gathering her thoughts.

"Draco," she said, returning her gaze to Draco's. "Your father has had visitors a few hours ago, with questions. Regarding the state of the Manor's defenses." She blinked, slowly. "They still have their plans... to revive _Him_."

Draco felt his mouth go dry.

"And what did Father tell them?"

"He said nothing." Her tone was even, but her eyes flashed with quicksilver Black pride. "But their questions indicated certain knowledge." She nodded, almost to herself, as if Draco had asked something pertinent. He kept his tongue, even as a chilling worry was looming at the horizon of his mind.

"If anything happens to Potter," she said. "They'll blame _you_."

"He'll be safe. He _is_ safe," Draco said. "Mother, _please_. Go on."

"When _He_ was there," she murmured, "he may have changed the Manor...at least in the places he claimed as his residence. Your father would say he sensed something wrong, but it was so faint, so distant and we had...other concerns." She paused, and closed her eyes briefly before opening them once more. "_He_ may have carved out parts to be loyal only to him, as long as they stood. I don't know how much you've re-done, Draco, but even a little section that remains may still be _different_."

Draco's mind whirled around these ideas and focused on the one that mattered _now_. "Changed? How? So that anyone could enter?" He got to his feet, that mental chill advancing steadily and rapidly.

Narcissa shook her head. "No. Not just anyone. Not wizards or witches. But some magical beings might enter and allow access to others, like Demen-"

The Floo went out. The lamps went dead, and Draco stood in a shocked darkness so complete that it seemed to weigh against his eyelids. He whirled around, flicking a bright light into place at the tip of his wand and sprinted to the door which connected his room to Harry's.

"Cramoisy. Bitsy. Drossy. Lamby. Nercher," he chanted, almost a protective charm as he opened Harry's door and went inside. The house-elves popped beside Harry's bed, the tips of their ears pointing up and trembling slightly. "The Manor is under attack. _Protect_."

It was amusing, Draco would think from time to time, how a lot of Muggleborns thought that house-elves were defenseless, servile creatures. If they could see the almost violent expression that crossed their docile faces, twisting them out of recognition, a lot of Muggleborns would have to have another think, really.

They shimmered out of sight. Draco placed his wand on the little shelf on Harry's headboard and knelt beside the bed. Harry had both hands tucked under his cheek, lower lip jutting out in a restful pout.

He rested one hand very lightly on Harry's shoulder, not wanting to startle him out of sleep too hard. "Harry. Wake up."

Harry's eyelids opened without a flutter. "Draco?" He sat up, knuckling at one eye. His hair stuck up in all directions. "Wha-"

He flinched as a series of loud crashes resounded from downstairs and then stared up at Draco, eyes dark in the wandshine. Something let out a high-pitched shriek that drilled into Draco's ears; Harry clutched at Draco's closest arm with both hands. He could hear human voices as well, shouting as footsteps thudded along rooms and corridors.

"Find the boy!" someone called, loudly. "Get Potter; there's not much time left! Find him! And don't let him get Kissed!" The strident voice descended into pained yelps, accompanied by the battle-whistles of the house-elves; they could hold their own against humans quite easily...but not against Dementors.

"Come." Draco gathered him up, and Harry clung tight, breath falling in quick, panicked pants against Draco's cheek. Draco grabbed his wand and took a step towards the door, and then fell back when it rattled on its hinges. The temperature, already quite cool, stumbled down a flight of degrees. Harry shivered. Draco calculated his chances of pushing aside the molecules of the Manor's walls so that they could escape, but these walls were far too thick, and it would take a longer time than he was willing to spare. The door to his own room rattled in its frame as well.

He inhaled deeply and then exhaled, mouthing the charm he needed now. He tried not to focus on the fact that he had struggled to cast this spell even in Auror training, producing a misty shape over the heads of his tutors and colleagues. That was one of the myriad of reasons why he'd been paired with Potter, He of the Impressive Patronus.

_Expecto Patronum_, he thought, and fixed his mind on Harry's drawings, placed in his hands with a shy smile. _Expecto Patronum_, and the doors swung open on their hinges, shadows moving within shadows.

""_Expecto Patronum_," he murmured, hugging Harry close. A spray of cloudy material floated ineffectually out of his wand. Harry's arms tightened around his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw the hooded shapes reaching for them, bony claws curling greedily. Draco felt despair lance through his chest; he heard the screams of tortured Muggles, the weeping of his mother behind closed doors and the thick sound that Professor Dumbledore's body made as it struck the earth.

"I love you, Draco," Harry said in a small voice, which managed to creep under the choking blanket of Draco's misery. "I love you."

Draco heaved a laboured breath, flung out his wand-arm and said in a voice that seemed to echo inside Harry's room with authority: "Expecto._Patronum_."

A peacock, its plumage flared into blinding arcs of light as it erupted from the end of his wand, leaped at the nearest Dementor, clawing even as it let out a piercing call. The Dementors fell away from the Patronus' vicious attack; Draco turned right around and yelled, "Reducto!"

He apologised silently to the Manor as it shuddered under the assault, but barely yielded: just a few well-shaped stones had smashed out of place.

"Reducto!" he tried again, aiming at the small hole he created. More stone and mortar erupted to create a sizeable rupture, and Draco raced to the space, hurling himself and Harry through it and into the night, shouting the largest cushioning charm he knew. His Patronus screamed again as they bounced on a thick, invisible layer. He tucked himself around Harry to protect him as they rolled to the edge of the cushioning charm, even though Harry didn't feel that small at the moment.

He felt his head strike against something hard, and pain blasted directly into his brain. Harry wasn't in his arms anymore, and the air seemed so cool again, so very _cold_.

His wand, which he still had clenched in his hand, was pulled out of his grip.

Above him, someone said: "_Expecto Patronum_," and unconsciousness collected him in a sympathetic embrace as the triumphant sound of hooves clopping against a stone walkway faded away.

.:.

The whispers followed Draco Malfoy everywhere in his dreams, like soft sighs of secretive leaves. They floated around him as he lay in bed, pushing gently at the edges of his sleep. They twisted around the hand that held his, floated into his nostrils with the astringent scent of a hospital ward, and settled lightly onto his lashes, so that he could hear them even through the veil of agony. Everyone had something to say, and they said it with a deference on which Draco had waited all his life, and in which he was not interested now.

_I don't remember much,_ one of the whispers hovered above him, glowing soft like a halo. _But it's like my childhood feels...more manageable to remember._

_A peacock?_ Another whisper touched his skin with dry amusement. It felt like worn sandpaper. _Figures that Ferret-face would have a peacock as his Patronus._

_Oh come on_. This whisper landed in his hair, shifting some bothersome strands out of his face. _A Patronus isn't about who you are in the inside, you know that. It's about how you see your protector. So he sees his protector as someone fierce and brave and proud and loyal...and beautiful._

They swept away over his head, caught up in the iridescence of his dreams, whirled into the darkness of sleep. He floated awake again, and the pain didn't feel as intense as before. The smallest finger of his left hand was crooked at an odd angle.

Harry was murmuring and Draco felt his lips part slightly in surprise. "I don't know if...I just. Come on, Malfoy. _Draco_. Remember you promised: you're to keep me out of harm, and keep me happy. You actually cannot do all that while faffing about in bed, you berk."

"I am _not_ faffing about," Draco croaked out and opened his eyes, squinting at the slanting rays of warm afternoon sunshine. Harry looked at him very carefully, a small smile threatening to escape from his lips and rule the rest of his face.

(Draco would never call him _sweetheart_ now… but he could think it.)

Harry's small finger was wrapped around Draco's and he raised their joined hands to his face.

"Remember," Harry murmured, and he kissed Draco's finger. His gaze was dark and warm. "We promised."

_fin_


End file.
